The Good, the Bad and the Unfriendly

You never really retired from being famous. Less people just recognized you over time. Especially when you’re old and wrinkled compared to the days when you were out making a name for yourself. Like Grand Pear was now. His name was probably the only thing anyone would recognize now, and he usually didn’t give it out, only going by the friendly old moniker of “GP” to the people of the town he lived in now. Ever since he had finished training Spitfire he more or less retired from being a gunslinger, letting her take the title of “The Fastest Gun in Equestria” from him. And he was happy to. He wanted to live out the years he had left in peace and not have to worry about some young kid coming along looking to prove himself. Cause one day that kid would have killed him instead of the other way around.

Grand Pear was happy no one had challenged him in years to a duel. The major reason being that he had now gotten old, his body riddled with aches, pains, arthritis, cataracts, and his skills had atrophied after years of hanging up his gun. Even if someone did recognize him and challenged him he’d probably just refuse, what would anyone be proving anyways? It might lead to him being called a coward, or just getting shot in the back, but he wasn’t going to kill himself over a pointless, embarrassing, duel. Those days were behind him. Let the next generation shoot themselves to pieces.

Nowadays, Grand Pear tended bar in the slow town of Lighthoof. Slow. Just how he liked it. His customers were almost entirely made up of regulars from town with only a few travelers passing through ever stopping by his place. Again, just how he liked it. No need for any chance meetings or for some random fella to recognize him. He still kept an old revolver right under the bar but he could barely use the damn thing now anyways thanks to his arthritis. If he ever had to pull it out it would probably just be in an attempt to scare someone away. It was still loaded but he doubted he could hit anyone if he fired it.

He was old. Old and bent and tired. But he still counted himself lucky cause most who lived the life he had in the past didn’t make it to such a ripe old age. Most were dead before thirty even. And he enjoyed the folks around here, enjoyed their genuine smiles and the simple lives they led. He didn’t have any regrets about what he had done in the past, he loved it, but he had had enough of it too. Now was the time for a more simple way of living. Quiet and slow where he could be everyone’s friendly uncle. The charming old bartender who always had an easygoing smile on his face.

They didn’t need to know how many people this old-timer had personally killed.

He probably only had a few years left in him anyways. One day he’d die, they’d make a grave for him, and then someone from out of town would come along and tell them who Grand Pear really was. But he’d be dead so what was it to him? Grand Pear wasn’t going to make a fuss over anything, Spitfire was still around to carry around his legacy and all his old rivals were either dead or retired the same as him. There was nothing to fuss over. The slow days in this town came and they went without incident and Grand Pear was more than happy to just keep living them until his time was up.

A slow day like any other had Grand Pear serving drinks and talking stories with some of the men around town who came to his bar. Well, Grand Pear mostly tended bar and listened, as any good bartender should do. The others could talk and tell their own stories and tall-tales, like about how the fish they had almost caught out fishing today was larger than their boat.

“I’m telling you the thing was huge! Massive! It broke the line of my fishing rod, otherwise I’d have caught it and you could all see for yourself,” Gold Buckle said as he relayed yet another one of his “big fish” stories to his pals.

“Yeah, bet it was ten feet long and must’ve weighed four-hundred pounds!” Dynamite sarcastically said. “How many huge fish have you almost reeled in now?”

“Lots!” Gold Buckle smiled. “One of these days I’ll land one too, you’ll see.”

“That’ll be the day. I don’t think a fish that size could even live in our lake,” Dynamite said.

“What are you? Some damn fish expert? Gold Buckle snorted.

“No I just aint never seen a fish even close to that big when I’ve been fishing,” Dynamite said as he took a big swig of his drink.

“That’s because you aint a good angler.”

“I could outfish you any day of the week, Gold.”

Gold Buckle scoffed and looked over at Grand Pear. “Hey, GP! You think this guy could land a bigger fish than me? I think he’s hot air!”

Grand Pear chuckled and shot the table a smile. “You all keep me out of this, don’t be dragging your old bartender into any such silly arguments.”

“You’ve gone fishing at least once while you’ve been here though, haven’t you?” Gold Buckle asked.

“Oh I think once or twice I’ve been out on the water. Never caught more than a bass though,” Grand Pear answered.

“Well I could catch a big damn bass at least,” Dynamite laughed.

“There’s catfish in the lake too but you gotta wait till evening to fish for em,” another member of the group said, a portly fellow by the name of Inkwell. “They can get a lot bigger than any bass but I don’t think they get as big as Gold says either.”

“Could’ve been a catfish...” Gold Buckle mused.

Dynamite rolled his eyes. “Right, I’m sure it was. Anyone got a story or something to talk about that isn’t crazy?”

“Well I heard that down in Appleloosa they found gold in some of the rivers around town. People are panning for gold now,” the fourth member of the group, one Ditch Digger, said.

“Gold fever striking is it?” Dynamite said. “Hell though, I’d be too afraid to travel down there or look for gold on my own, with the way the law is right now.”

Inkwell nodded. “Mhm, you’d get robbed as soon as you found anything.”

“Panning’s easier but mining and digging has a better chance of unearthing really big veins and nuggets of gold. Course it’s still a one in a million thing that you actually find anything to make it all worthwhile,” Gold Buckle said.

“There will probably be one guy who strikes it big and then all the fools will come rushing in too...” Dynamite shook his head. “Count me out. I’ll take the simple life here any day of the week. Good town, good friends, and good beer.” He raised his mug up with a smile and nodded at Grand Pear.

Grand Pear couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ll keep that up so long as you keep paying.”

“You don’t got any silly idea to go and look for gold then?” Ditch Digger asked.

Grand Pear shook his head. “Naw, too old, too much trouble. Some extra gold doesn’t interest me. What would I even do with it at this point? I’ll be staying here and enjoying the simple life too.”

“Well I wouldn’t mind having some extra money to set aside for the family,” Ditch Digger said. “That’s why I’d go looking for gold and all. But I don’t think it’d end well either, wouldn’t help anyone to wind up dead.”

“Might give Appleloosa a real boom though. That town could grow like a weed overnight if there really is enough people crazy for gold that they’ll take the risk,” Inkwell said.

“Not crazy, desperate,” Dynamite said.

“That’s right. With the way things are out here, lot of people would be willing to risk it all just to strike it big and move to somewhere like Canterlot, where they can just live in peace.” Gold Buckle said.

“If people want to live in peace they should come to a nice little out of the way town like this,” Dynamite said.

Grand Pear nodded to that. “Just like me. Once I got nice and old I wanted a quiet town to live in. Maybe if I had family to take care of it would be different but I don’t have anything like that.”

“No one to keep you company in your old age, even?” Inkwell asked.

“Not anyone but my friends around town,” Grand Pear winked. “But no, any relations I had are gone or wouldn’t exactly be interested in seeing me.” The old bartender paused, he was starting to get too personal, it just slipped out in the moment. Seems his old mind had gotten a little loose.

“That’s too bad,” Dynamite said. “When’s your birthday then, GP? We can at least celebrate that one of these days if you got no one else around. I’d say you deserve it.”

“I really wouldn’t want to put you through that trouble...” Grand Pear tried to waive him off. “At this age a birthday is less a celebration and more a reminder anyways.”

“Well you gotta let us do something for you sometime?” Dynamite insisted.

At last Grand Pear relented. “Alright, alright, you can think of something and run it by me, okay? That sound good?”

Dynamite smiled. “Sure does.”

“My birthday is coming just next month and nobody has said anything about a party...” Gold Buckle mumbled.

“Consider it payment for having to listen to all your dumb stories all the time,” Inkwell said to him.

“Well I don’t see how that’s fair.”

“It’s more than fair,” Ditch Digger added.

Grand Pear just shook his head and returned to cleaning his mugs and having things ready in case anyone wanted another drink. He was glad that the spotlight wasn’t on him anymore. He liked some light impersonal conversation, shooting the breeze, he didn’t want any of the fellas in this town to trouble themselves over him. Or find out something they really might not want to learn. Grand Pear took his role as a bartender seriously, now that it was all he had, he tended bar, was a good ear for listening, and he gave out a reassuring word to whoever needed it. But he would never be your best friend or even the type of guy you invited to your wedding. And he liked it that way. This was a good life for him now that his gunslinging days were over.

By the time the four friends finished their “business” here it was near closing time, after bidding them farewell, Grand Pear dealt with the last few customers still in his bar until they too retired for the night. It was late at that point, the sun having gone down ages ago and the moon hanging high in the night sky. Naturally there were some people who stayed at the bar way too late, and sometimes Grand Pear had to carefully escort them out. Wasn’t much fun for his old bones but that was part of being a bartender too. Once the last person was out tonight he took off his apron and put it on the bar, getting ready to pull out some rags and get the rest of the establishment nice and clean. It was a pain to do every night but he had to do it.

He had just grabbed his wooden bucket full of dry rags from under the bar when he heard the front door open up.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” Grand Pear said without even looking in the direction of the door.

“I’m not here for a drink.”

The voice made Grand Pear freeze in sheer disbelief. It was a voice he’d recognize anywhere, at anytime, even years since he had last heard it. There was an undeniable deeper twang to it, a raspiness that hadn’t been there last time, but he knew whose voice it was all the same. Grand Pear turned around with a stony expression on his face and looked at the newcomer. A tall, formerly fat man who looked like he had recently had a bout of sudden weight loss, with a bushy black beard and bloodshot eyes stood in his doorway.

“Been a long time, McColt,” Grand Pear said, evenly and without a shred of emotion, least of all fear, in his voice.

“Been a long time looking,” Granddaddy McColt said in reply.

Grand Pear breathed out his nose, not taking his eyes off McColt for a second. Not even blinking. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

“You know,” Granddaddy McColt nodded. “I got a score to settle with you.”

“Our score was settled when our apprentices dueled. That was the end of it. That was the torch being carried on by the next generation,” Grand Pear responded.

Granddaddy McColt smiled. A humorless smile that stretched across his beard, showing off his yellow teeth. “That’s true, that’s true. We both said our rivalry was over no matter which of our apprentices lived. But it’s a funny thing. When you get old, you start thinking, you start thinking about everything you’ve lost and what you have left. And I realized that there was no way I could go to the grave like this, Pear.”

“Grave?” Grand Pear raised an eyebrow at his old rival. He certainly seemed unwell, and it was more than just age.

“I’m sure you can tell that I’m a lot thinner than I used to be. Don’t have much time left. Cancer.”

Grand Pear frowned, mulling the word over in his head. In some ways it was scarier than a gun. “I’m… sorry.”

“Are ya now?” Granddaddy McColt chuckled.

“Well, I don’t have anything positive to say about you but… that aint really the way anyone should go. Not in my book at least.”

“I agree. And that’s why I came here. To settle things one final time.”

Grand Pear was calm but he still glanced down at Granddaddy McColt’s waist. He didn’t seem to be wearing a gun but he could have one concealed somewhere. Could Grand Pear grab his revolver from under the bar and shoot McColt as soon as he made a move to do something? He didn’t know if he had the speed anymore. Or the damn accuracy. He was just as liable to shoot out his front window with all six bullets than hit his target nowadays.

Although it didn’t seem possible, the grin on Granddaddy McColt’s face got even wider when he noticed Grand Pear’s gaze and what he was clearly thinking. “You don’t need to worry, I aint carrying iron. Left it back in the room I’m staying at.”

“Not very smart of you,” Grand Pear said, the unsaid threat left in the air.

“Heh, you may not hesitate to kill but you’ve never shot an unarmed man. And I doubt you’d shoot one dying of cancer either.”

Grand Pear frowned and folded his arms over his chest. “With why you’re here it’s obvious I should make an exception for that.”

“But you wont,” Granddaddy McColt nodded. “And come on, you can’t look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want one last duel. One last time where you’re laying your life on the line.”

“It’s… maybe five years ago, McColt,” Grand Pear shook his head. “But now? I’ve got arthritis and cataracts. I can’t shoot even half—hell, a quarter—as good as I used to. I used to be the fastest gun in Equestria. But those days are long gone. What the hell would a duel between the two of us really prove? I can’t imagine your skills are just as good as ever, specially with how sick you are.”

“You’re right about that. I can barely lift my gun.”

“Then just leave it.”

“No,” this time it was McColt’s turn to shake his head. “We may not be fighting for any titles, or even to really prove anything, not with how old and cracked we’ve gotten, but this is the way for the two of us to go out. Not with me dying in a damn hospital bed or you quietly passing away one night after wasting your last few years as some bartender in some backwater hole. At least one of us is going to die with a bullet in them. That’s the way it should be.” He paused for a moment to look Grand Pear in the eyes more seriously. “So I’ll be back here tomorrow at this time. And so will you.”

Grand Pear was silent for nearly a full minute as he returned McColts look with a cold one of his own. At last his mouth opened up. “Yeah, I will be.”

Granddaddy McColt nodded. “Okay then. I’ll see you tomorrow night, Pear. For the last time.”

The old, cancer-stricken, man turned around, heading back out the door and leaving Grand Pear alone. This wasn’t how Grand Pear wanted things to go but he supposed he had no right to complain. Does someone who had heartlessly gunned down as many people as him have the right to choose how he dies? He should’ve known the world wouldn’t let him go quiet and peacefully. It’s not like he intended on losing this duel he had been forced into tomorrow night but… he just knew how much he had atrophied. Squeezing the trigger alone would hurt. Trying to aim it true without shaking would be tough. Drawing it at any sort of speed would be impossible with the way his muscles and joints in his arm were. He only hoped that Granddaddy McColt was facing the same things.

The next day, Grand Pear was like a ghost in his own bar. He didn’t engage with the others as much and there was a notably gaunt look on his face compared to the easygoing smile he usually had for the people of this town. Still, he managed to brush off anyone trying to ask him if something was wrong. Grand Pear had a knack for flying under suspicion. Especially as he grew older, people just didn’t think he could really be involved in anything serious. Even back when he was younger and the fastest gun in Equestria he was good at appearing like any other guy.

So the conversations went by in a blur. He wasn’t even sure what had happened today or who came to the bar. Everything was hazy as he knew what was coming at closing time. Would McColt walk on in and they’d draw at the count of ten? Or would he kick the door open and start firing at Grand Pear without a word? In the past he knew it would’ve been a quickdraw contest with them facing off against each other. But now that they had both declined greatly in that skill he wouldn’t have been surprised if McColt just came in guns blazing, since neither of them had a point to prove.

Grand Pear was absentmindedly cleaning the inside of a mug with a white dish rag. He had been doing that for a long while and the mug by now was clean about five times over. He had just enough sense to say goodbye to the usual customers each time they left. That went on and on all through the night until there were only a few left. He knew that soon after they were gone, Granddaddy McColt would be here. The old quickdraw wasn’t afraid of him, he had beaten McColt enough times in the past and even his protege had beaten his. Things were going to be different this time though. This wasn’t going to be like any of the duels Grand Pear had in his past, where he was confident he could always outdraw his opponent.

“See ya tomorrow, GP,” Dynamite said as he left the bar, the last one to leave.

“See ya,” Grand Pear minutely nodded and smiled back.

Although he wasn’t sure about that.

Once the door was closed, Grand Pear put down his mug and rag and idly glanced at the gun under the bar. He had it loaded and there was a small box of bullets next to it as well. Looking at his clock he saw it was just about time for McColt to show up if he really was intending on coming by at the same time as last night. Grand Pear untied his apron and moved his hand to the shelf where his gun rest, preparing. In his prime he would’ve had a sixth sense telling him when and where danger was coming from. Something honed from years of always being in danger. Like the rest of his skills, that had atrophied too. Now he was just waiting for McColt to make himself known.

Because it was quiet out, Grand Pear heard the footfalls of someone walking towards his door. They were coming up alongside the building neighboring his. It was dark out and there was naught but a few candles lighting up his bar so Grand Pear couldn’t see outside it too well. That and because his eyes weren’t what they used to be either. Grand Pear’s hand came resting on top of his gun when the footsteps stopped right outside his front door.

There was silence then. Grand Pear heard and felt nothing more than his own heartbeat.

That was broken by the sound of his front window shattering as something came through it, Grand Pear looked to see a rock sailing through the air, landing on the floor.

A distraction.

Grand Pear was in the middle of looking back at the door and pulling out his gun when Granddaddy McColt burst through it, gun already in hand and raising it at the old barkeep. Grand Pear fumbled with his gun, a lance of pain running up his fingers as he clasped his hand around the handle. Damn arthritis. He still managed to pull the loaded gun out and duck at the same time as McColt fired his first shot.

Ducking turned out to be pointless, McColt’s aim was way off despite him being but ten feet away. The bullet blew a hole in the back wall of the bar. Grand Pear was somewhat thankful that he hadn’t hit one of the bottles of more expensive alcohol that was lined up there. Of course Grand Pear’s first return shot was just as bad. The bullet whizzed past McColt and blew out some of the remaining shards of glass from his front window. He just couldn’t hold the gun steady and squeezing the trigger made him wince in pain. The good news was he could see the same kind of expression on McColt’s face. The both of them were hurting, so at least it was fair.

Granddaddy McColt went low, he didn’t dive, he couldn’t with his body in the condition it was in, but he was able to still hunker down slightly and strafe a little behind some of the tables in the bar while firing at Grand Pear who had the benefit of the bar to hide behind. Grand Pear though knew a bullet could still easily go through the wood and whatnot of the bar and hit him if it was a good shot, he wasn’t going to be taking it for granted. Both of them fired five more shots each at the other, taking nothing more than cheap, poorly aimed, potshots. It was practically a travesty compared to the precise duels they used to partake in in their youth. They both could recall a time when they could’ve drawn and shot the wings off a fly from a hundred paces away in a split-second. Now here they were wildly throwing bullets at each other from close range and just hopping they could hit the other.

Each time the trigger was pulled hurt his fingers from the motion and his palm from the kickback and the sound of the gun firing made their ears ring. Neither of them could focus their eyes properly or hold the gun straight as they tried to shoot their opponent. It was a wild mess between two old-timers who had no business carrying guns at all anymore.

Grand Pear shot a bullet through one of his tables, blew through a picture frame of a vase, shot two into his back wall, and the last exploded a mug left on one of the tables. Granddaddy McColt fired three shots into the bar, one into a bottle of vermouth, and another into a near empty bottle of whiskey. Neither of them were keeping count thanks to the hectic exchange so a few empty clicks filled the air after the sound of bullets. Grand Pear was still behind his bar and McColt was near the side of the wall as they realized together that they had to reload.

While Grand Pear reached over to the box of bullets he had kept next to his gun, Granddaddy McColt started pulling spare bullets from his belt. Both of them frantically tried to reload their guns as fast as they could. Which was to say not very fast.

With trembling fingers, Grand Pear flipped open the chamber of his gun and tried putting the first bullet in. But his nerves and arthritis got the better of him and he accidentally dropped that one onto floor. “Fuck.” He ground out and tried inserting the next one.

Granddaddy McColt wasn’t doing any better. He was having trouble just squeezing the individual bullets out of their little loops in his belt. Both of them knew they should try to be calmer, when they were younger they would’ve been able to settle down, but they just couldn’t be right now. In the end by the time McColt had gotten one bullet in, Grand Pear had gotten three. The barkeep thought that was good enough and he raised his gun to shoot the struggling other. McColt saw this and made to try and duck out of the way again, but instead this time his knees just gave out and he ended up falling to the floor, sprawled out and in pain.

Didn’t matter though, when Grand Pear tried squeezing the trigger again a lance of pain went through his entire hand. Muscle spasm, or perhaps his arthritis finally becoming completely unbearable. And it led to him accidentally firing his gun far from where McColt was and then he flat out dropped the whole thing altogether. The gun bounced off the bar and fell to the floor in front of it.

Grand Pear paled, he’d have to walk out and around the bar now and leave himself completely open to getting shot if he wanted to retrieve that gun.

Both of them were still no more than ten feet away from each other.

Granddaddy McColt was still groaning and struggling to get up though. He had hurt his hip when he fell and several bullets were lying around him. Grand Pear saw that as the opportunity he needed to safely retrieve his revolver. While Grand Pear walked out on wobbly legs to get his gun, McColt reached out and tried to rake in the closest bullets. He still had one in the chamber already but with the way things were going he doubted that would be enough.

When Grand Pear reached the spot where his gun lied he bent down to pick it up—but he bent too quickly and pulled something in his back, making it impossible for him to straighten back up all the way.

“For the love of...” Grand Pear winced as he grabbed his gun.

Even that failed though. When he tried to close his right hand around it and pick it up he found he couldn’t. The bones and muscles in his right hand weren’t letting him, they were cramped. He wasn’t ambidextrous either, he had never tried practicing shooting with his left. Although to be frank, with how badly he was shooting with his right tonight could shooting with his left really be worse?

McColt managed to partially get up with a few bullets clenched in his left hand, he tossed over one of the tables and got behind it to try and reload while Grand Pear awkwardly held his revolver in his left hand. Grand Pear stumbled and had to lean back against his bar while he stretched his arm out as best he could from his hunched over position. The barrel of his gun was aimed right at the table, and he could see McColt fumbling about behind it. Grand Pear tried to steady his aim the best he could and pulled the trigger with his left pointer finger.

Another loud shot ripped through the bar and his gun blew a hole in the table McColt was hiding behind.

Unfortunately it didn’t blow a hole in McColt’s body as well. His rival then reached up with a fully loaded gun and started firing at Grand Pear from behind his table. A few still went way wide but one was close enough to make a hole in the bar right next to Grand Pear’s left leg. That didn’t frighten Grand Pear though, he held his gun steady again and tried to aim for McColt. There was only one bullet left in his gun and he had to make it count, otherwise he might not get another chance.

Granddaddy McColt stood up from behind his table to get a better angle at Grand Pear. He saw Grand Pear practically waiting for him and fired his revolver to try and take out his rival before Grand Pear could kill him instead. His aim and firing speed still hadn’t improved any, even at practically a stationary target. The one bullet he got off shattered another bottle of whiskey behind Grand Pear before Grand Pear returned fire with his final bullet.

With a powerful whumph it hit Granddaddy McColt in the stomach. He wheezed as all the air left his lungs and he felt himself knocked back. Instead of just falling to the floor, he stumbled backwards until the back of his legs hit the seat of a chair and he collapsed down into it.

Grand Pear’s fingers were shaking and the gun fell out of his grasp. His rival was breathing heavily with a hole in his stomach that blood had begun to pour freely from. It was clear that Granddaddy McColt wasn’t going to be breathing for much longer. His eyes were glassy with shock and he had lost all strength in his body, getting out of the chair would’ve been impossible even if he wanted to. While Grand Pear stood up against the bar looking at him, McColt was able to slightly tilt his head down to peer at the bullet hole in his stomach.

“I think you got me.”

“Yeah… looks like it.”

The two of them stayed where they were, Grand Pear just looking at his rival as he grew more and more pale. At last he managed to move his legs and walked over to another chair, sitting down on it so he could rest. In his chest his heart was pounding with abandon—to a degree that he was worried hed’d have a damn heart attack if it didn’t calm down soon.

Granddaddy McColt’s eyelids were getting heavy and darkness was starting to cloud the outer edges of his vision. “Guess… guess I’m the one who goes out the way we should...”

“I won’t be too long either,” Grand Pear replied. “And, well, you may have lost to me but if it’s any consolation, explaining all this shit is gonna be a pain in the ass.”

“Heh… aheh...” Granddaddy McColt weakly chuckled before it turned into a cough. “You should… you should try and go out with a gun in your hand too… it’s… the right way.”

With one last breath, Granddaddy McColt’s chest heaved and then all the air left his lungs, his body now still.

Grand Pear looked back on the floor where his gun lied before calmly looking back at the body of his former rival. He may have been right. Maybe a slow death didn’t suit him. But if he was meant to die in a duel to the death he would’ve preferred it happening when he was younger, getting taken out by somebody just a little quicker on the draw than him. Now he’d have to take the slow death whether he wanted to or not. That was part of growing older.

His heart had started to slow down. Despite the pain still racking his body, Grand Pear stood up and looked for his rags, there was a lot of cleaning to do.